


Line of Balance

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Cooking, Crying, Deja Vu, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Existential Angst, It can't be ignored forever, Mistakes, Papyrus (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Papyrus tries not to think too hard about it, Repressed Memories, Sans plays along, Unresolved Emotional Tension, hopelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25439224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Papyrus always has a firm grasp on his emotions. He has to keep his smile on and set an example—which is why it's a little counterproductive that he's standing here now, crying over his pot of spaghetti.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 87





	Line of Balance

Papyrus wasn’t sure what had brought it on so suddenly. It was embarrassing. It was for baby bones who hadn’t practiced yet how to square their shoulders and reign it in. It was not for someone like him, so completely, constantly in control.

He _always_ had a firm, proper hold over his emotions, as any mature adult should. He kept a smile on his face because he lived in a hopeful, beautiful world, and there were many monsters in the Underground who needed that reminder! If anyone could find a way to reshape their thinking through sheer force of will, it was the great Papyrus. He had to maintain his poise, set an example.

Today, however, emotion decided to stage a silly, unfortunate little coup, which was why he now stood inexplicably crying over a pot of spaghetti.

He did his best to muffle the sharp hiccups for air and sponge away the tear-streaks with his gloves. Sans was dozing in the living room and it wouldn’t do any good to have him come in and start prodding with cautious questions—not when Papyrus himself had no idea what the problem was.

No idea at all.

 _A royal guardsman doesn’t blubber and bewail over his pasta. He makes the stove hotter, he stirs harder. He presses on!_ That’s what Undyne would want. If she could see him now, she would slap him on the back of the skull and command him to stop standing around like a loser. Wasting time on tears as the noodles grew soft and soggy? Unacceptable!

But what did it matter? Did it, truly? Undyne wouldn’t always be there to teach him. Someday she might go on vacation ~~again~~ and he would never get the chance to finish his lessons.

Now, now. Where had _that_ thought come from? Somewhere uninvited. As far back as he could remember, Undyne refused to entertain the idea of a vacation while there were still humans to be seized. A wet, wheezing laugh, more like a moan, escaped him at the picture of her sitting on an ambiguous beach somewhere, soaking up the sun.

But how was he to know what a beach looked like? How could he conjure up any image of the sun? An old daydream, perhaps, or a very well-crafted nightmare in disguise.

The spaghetti spat and gurgled in front of him, making him flinch. As he stared it down with burning eye sockets, something with a throbbing, numbed edge crawled its way up his ribs.

It didn’t matter if Undyne went away on vacation ~~again~~ or not. It didn’t matter how many lessons she gave him, how many noodles he wasted practicing, how many Surface cookbooks he devoured to discover their secrets. He would never get it right. He would never get the chance to _fix_ it. The thought made him sniffle, swallow hard, and his throat stung.

Perhaps this sense of…ultimately inescapable defeat didn’t matter either. There were people counting on him to keep trying. Keep going. The great, self-assured and _very composed_ Papyrus was not one to give up on anything.

“Pap?”

“ _Nyagh_ — _!_ ” Whirling sideways, Papyrus made a lunge for the spoon in a desperate attempt to look busy. His voice cracked as he forced a breathless laugh, stirring vigorously. “Brother, you startled me! I didn’t hear you come in; I was preoccupied with some deep, sophisticated thinking—the only kind in which I partake.”

Sans’ slouched, casual posture didn’t change, but the easy smile he always wore shifted almost imperceptibly. “Sure, okay. Well, if you’ve got boiling water on the brain, I could give you a _tap_ on your skull to make you feel better. That kind of thinking can _drain_ you.” Papyrus didn’t have much time to puzzle out the pun; Sans’ next words came abruptly as he slid a step forward, head tilted to get a better look at him. “Hey, is something up? You look like you were crying.”

“I—No, don’t be ridiculous! I don’t cry,” he sputtered. “I just…caught some of the steam in my eyes while I was assessing. But it, ah, it looks as if the spaghetti is almost ready so see to it that you are hungry. I want your opinion.” _He won’t like it. That I know well enough. But if even he can grin and bear it, so can I_.

Sans’ eyelights blinked. “Spaghetti? That’s new. I didn’t know you were into cooking, bro. You exploring other pasta-bilities while you wait for Undyne to get back to you about the Guard?”

Oh.

Papyrus’ stirring ground to an uncomfortable halt. Hand falling loose around the spoon handle, he gazed almost dully between his expectant brother and the noodles, now foaming as they melted.

How silly of him, overachieving so soon.

Undyne hadn’t made her offer to teach him yet.


End file.
